


People are My Religion

by dark_def (dedicatedfollower467)



Series: Smells Like Belonging [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anger, Blood, Canonical Character Death, Child Abuse, Complicated Relationships, Crushes, F/M, First Meetings, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Incest, M/M, Mating Bond, POV Second Person, Panic Attacks, Parent/Child Incest, Past Sexual Abuse, Pesterlog(s) (Homestuck), Scent Marking, Sibling Incest, Suicidal Thoughts, Touch-Starved, Victim Blaming, to say the least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:08:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22353877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedicatedfollower467/pseuds/dark_def
Summary: Dave never wanted to play this stupid game in the first place. But apparently it's the kind of game that can kill you, and if Rose dies, he'll never be able to live with himself afterwards.That said, if he'd known it would be able to put him in physical contact with all of his best friends, he might have been a bit more eager to play it.
Relationships: Dave's Bro | Beta Dirk Strider/Dave Strider, Davesprite & Dave Strider, One-sided John Egbert/Dave Strider, Rose Lalonde & Dave Strider, Terezi Pyrope & Dave Strider, one-sided Jade Harley/Dave Strider - Relationship
Series: Smells Like Belonging [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592716
Comments: 14
Kudos: 108





	1. Bro

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of folks in the comments of the previous fic begged for me to let nice things happen to Dave.
> 
> Not everything in this fic qualifies as "nice," exactly, especially not the first chapter. But most of it is a lot less awful. Although it would be hard to _not_ be less awful than the last fic.
> 
> If this fic doesn't have a particular Dave-centric Sburb event in it, you can assume it happened pretty much as it did in canon, with appropriate A/B/O variations. I might write side fics in the future following other character's POVs on Sburb, but overall, Sburb plays out much the same.
> 
> The title of this fic comes from the song "People" by AJJ.
> 
> Enjoy!

See, under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t even bother trying to play this game. Your copy has officially left the apartment via a now-very-dead brainless feathery fuck, straight out the window to the sidewalk below. Leaving the apartment is a thing you are explicitly not allowed to do and are _never_ going to attempt again, not after the punishment you got last time.

This means the only available copy is your Bro’s, which means you’d have to ask him for it, and you know there’s only two options for how you could possibly earn it, and right now you don’t particularly feel like having either a sword _or_ a dick poked into you. Not just for some dumb game John and Rose are all excited over.

Except, apparently, this game is some kinda freaky Jumanji bullshit, because Rose is gonna _die_ if you can’t get her into the game before a fucking _meteor_ explodes her house.

You are not being the least little bit hyperbolic when you think that you’d probably end up killing yourself if anything ever happened to Rose. Your three best friends are really all that is left tethering you to your tenuous grip on the meager remnants of your sanity.

So really, you’re just as much saving _yourself_ as you are saving her.

Bro clearly knows you want his copy of Sburb. You don’t know how he knows that, how he always seems to know everything, but you stopped questioning his terrifying near-omniscience a long time ago.

You keep seeing flashstepping afterimages out of the corner of your vision, and Bro’s sword is missing from its holder on the wall. Cal is showing up in places you’re sure he _wasn’t_ just a second ago. The kitchen is filled with random weapons and explosives, which isn’t necessarily unusual, for your kitchen, but there’s a lot of _extra_ beyond what you’re used to seeing on an everyday basis.

Which means Bro’s probably looking to kick your ass, rather than take it.

You’re honestly pretty relieved about that, because your last heat was like three days ago and you’re still tired and sore.

At least, you’re _pretty_ sure Bro wants to fight, right up until you pull open the hatch to the crawlspace and a rain of smuppet ass comes tumbling down on your face. You flinch as the first wave smacks into you, give half a mind to an escape attempt before accepting your inevitable fate of being buried in a heap of colorful puppet dong. Your heart sinks as fast as the little guys fall.

Yeah, it’s true that Bro doesn’t _usually_ use smuppets when he fucks you, but they are undeniably sexual in nature. Every long proboscis looks like a dick - every round, bulging face looks like a knot. And every impudent velvety ass just kinda jutting up all coyly makes you think of your own, reminds you that to Bro, there’s not much difference.

So you feel a little bit like you’re getting mixed signals here, and dread builds up in your stomach at the thought of Bro making you trade sex for the Sburb CDs. You’ll still do it, of course you will, Rose’s damn life is at stake and a little bit of discomfort on your part definitely isn’t worth letting her die. You’d just much rather that discomfort came from getting your ribs staved in falling the fuck down the stairs, if you had a choice. But you don’t have a choice.

Thankfully, you find the note telling you to bring Cal up to the roof. And while you wouldn’t necessarily put it past Bro to have a public sex kink, and Cal has absolutely been involved in the shit you’ve done before, you don’t think he’s very likely to fuck his thirteen-year-old brother out in the open air where anybody could see the two of you going at it.

You breathe out a sigh of relief as you gather up Cal and prep yourself for battle, double-checking that you know where all the potentially-weaponizable items are in your sylladex. It’s going to suck major balls, and Bro is absolutely going to kick your ass, but at least he’s not fucking you. At least you won’t have to go into this game that you’re playing with your very innocent and naive friends feeling like a used fleshlight.

At least, you’re pretty sure. You really, really hope you’re right.

When you reach the roof, Bro stands silhouetted against the hazy orange Texan sky, katana at the ready. Even as a different kind of fear chokes your throat, something lightens in the pit of your stomach at the confirmation that this is gonna be strife, not sex. 

The battle begins immediately, almost faster than you can think, and only your finely honed instinct and aggressive conditioning prevent Bro from slicing open your fragile skin. After that, everything is a blur of movement, Cal and Bro and your own sword all merging into one frantic, zipping dance.

At one point, when Cal is dancing absurdly on top of you, and you’re starting to feel the bruises forming, you consider trying to abscond. You lift yourself up onto your knees, shove Cal away, and make a darting motion towards the roof access door.

Bro is standing in front of you before you’ve made it three inches, and then the battle _really_ begins.

Most days, you still don’t think that Bro would actually kill you in a strife like this. The only times you think Bro would actually let you die are usually when you’re half out of your mind from fever and/or dehydration, when you’re in so much pain you begin to consider dying preferable to having to go through this again. But most of the time, you know that even if Bro doesn’t exactly _care_ about you, your bond-scarred corpse would be pretty difficult to explain to the police and getting rid of it would be too much hassle.

Today, that certainty is not with you.

Bro fights like he’s been possessed by a demon, sword flying faster than you think you’ve ever seen it before, his face totally blank and without emotion. You can’t see his eyes under the shades so you can’t anticipate his moves, but even if you _could_ see his eyes you don’t think you’d be able to predict anything he’s doing, because he’s always fifteen steps ahead of you, and you’re only ever slicing at where he’s _been_. Not even his scent gives you a hint, because it’s void of emotion as well. Every clash and clang of your swords makes the bones of your arms shudder in protest.

You can’t defeat Bro on a _good_ day. Right now? You’re pretty much fucked.

This is pounded in when he catches you unexpectedly by the back of the neck and throws you down the stairs.

Is it sad that this is kind of routine for you, at this point? You’ve fallen down these stupid stairs so many times you know how to curl to protect your head and neck, how to angle your body so that when you impact the jutting corner of each step, it’s at least a little less painful. The tumble still lasts a small eternity. By the time you reach the bottom of the steps, you’ve reached the point where you’re rolling with the momentum, which means you roll _smack_ into the wall, knocking all the breath out of you.

Stiffly, you get to your feet. On any other day, this would be the end of the strife. Bro threw you the fuck down the stairs, back towards the apartment, which means this is your chance to get to the bathroom and patch up any cuts or scrapes you may have. If you hadn’t already pulled them all out, you’d probably grab a shitty sword from the freezer and use it to numb your growing bruises.

But you _need_ those goddamn Sburb CDs, and if Bro had been planning to give it to you after that, he would have already walked down the stairs and dropped it by your limp body as he headed back to the apartment.

So you grit your teeth, tighten your grip on your sword, and climb back up to the rooftop.

Bro is still waiting for you.

The final round barely lasts a second. You charge at him, readying your sword for a swing.

Everything happens too fast for you to follow. You see the instant your cheap piece of shit sword snaps under the force of his katana, note the decimated pieces of Cal as they fly past you, and then - 

Searing, blinding pain in your chest, like he’s stabbing you through the heart. For half a second, you think he has, that this is your last moment on earth, everything is over, you failed.

 _Sorry, Rose_ , you think.

When you finally finish skidding across the hot, sandpapery concrete of the rooftop, scattered sword parts and bits of Cal landing beside you, Bro walks over silently. The fact that you’re not actually dead is kind of astonishing to you, and you take in a shuddery breath.

Bro doesn’t say anything as he looks down, katana slung casually across his shoulders. He reaches into his pocket and flicks something at you, something which you belatedly realize are his copy of Sburb. Then he deploys his rocket hoverboard, steps on, and sails out into the blaring red of the sun.

He never said a single word to you the entire time.

For a little while you lie there under the burning Texas heat and ache, trying to catch your breath. You pull out your phone and send John a quick message about how Bro kicked your ass, and then slowly sit up.

It pulls on the wound in your chest and you gasp, raising a hand to cover it. Filled with dread, you look down, expecting to see a palm stained with blood and a huge gash that you’ll have to stitch back together yourself.

Instead you see the jagged edge of your shirt where Bro ripped through it, shattering your record symbol into two separate pieces, but not stained with anything. When you peel back the fabric to look at your skin, there’s only a thin line, red with blood, but not dripping. It hurts much worse than it looks, a tiny little cut like that. Nevertheless, you have an inexplicable feeling that it’s going to leave a scar.

You look up and contemplate the broken pieces of your sword, your now-ruined strife specibus.

Your sword is broken. Your symbol is broken.

Maybe you should have expected this, since you’re broken, too, after all.


	2. Davesprite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if you follow this fic/series and got weird notifications, I accidentally released this chapter earlier than I meant to before it was ready! I tried to correct it though. Hopefully this doesn't screw up the order of the chapters!
> 
> Also, as of the time of posting, the document I write this fic series in is over 100 pages and 40,000 words long. Now, I admit that this total includes titles, random notes, and scenes I ended up deciding to cut, but even when you discard that, that's still easily the longest fic I've written. We're only about halfway through the material I've already written and plan to publish, and I have a whole BUNCH of snippets and planned plot points that I haven't even written yet!
> 
> I can't wait to share it all with you!

You’re about to sign off with John, and then prototype your sprite with Cal, you guess, when you feel a kind of cracking, sparking energy in the air in front of you.

It’s kind of like the feeling you get in the air right before a big thunderstorm, when it hasn’t rained for months, or the weird static buzz of really old TV screens when you put your hand up to them, or the way your head feels when you rub a balloon on your shirt and then hold it above you and watch your hair stand on end. But it’s also kind of like the slow-motion moment as you realize that Bro’s about to push you down the stairs again, or the terrible endless anticipation of his dick in your ass while you’re in heat, or the breathless stop when you hit the ground during a strife and it feels like everything in your body escapes you at once. But also? It’s not _really_ like _any_ of those things, or maybe it’s like all of those things at once.

What you’re getting at here is it’s a really, really weird feeling. It’s also like, the most foreboding thing you’ve ever felt in your entire life. You are overwhelmed with a sense of your own mortality, with a strange knowledge of _doom_ hanging over your head like the sword of Damocles.

 _You are going to die_ , says that patch of energy, as clearly as if it were speaking to you.

You’re freaked out enough that you actually use all caps when you message John.

TG: WAIT  
EB: what?  
TG: dont go yet  
TG: somethings up  
EB: ugh…

And then a _person_ appears through that patch of energy, flashing into existence in a burst of red light that would probably have blinded you for a second if not for your shades.

The guy looks exactly like you, from the sweep of his hair to the mole to the left of his nose to the thin white scars of the mating bite on the side of his neck. His scent is the familiar strawberries-and-honey-and-whipped-cream smell that belongs to you. He’s wearing a suit and a tie, and he’s spinning what looks like a pair of floating, gear-shaped turntables. And although the electric feeling in the air fades away as soon as he arrives, the sense of inevitable disaster does not.

“I’m you from the future,” he says, turning to look at you. “And you’ve got to stop him.”

“What?” you say.

“If John goes right now, he’s going to die,” he says.

His face is the face of a man who has lost his entire world. A man who has either seen or imagined the broken and bloodied corpse of his best friend. A man who has spent weeks or months or years in mourning. A man who is speaking from experience.

And it’s definitely the face of a _man_ , not a boy, no matter how much baby fat he still has, and you do not want to grow up that fast.

You wonder if maybe you already have.

You try to keep it chill as you message John.

TG: ok its me from the future  
EB: huh?  
TG: its me  
TG: i just appeared  
TG: from the future  
TG: wearing a rad suit  
TG: he says dont go  
TG: or youre gonna die  
EB: pfffff.  
EB: lame.  
EB: what kind of gullible stooge do you think i am?

Panic grips your chest. John’s going to die, you’re going to lose him, you’re going to lose your best friend and the only decent Alpha you’ve ever met, and the feeling of doom hanging in the air makes so much sense to you now.

“He won’t believe me,” you say, desperately, to the other Dave, holding out your phone so that he can see the conversation.

Dave’s face is mostly impassive, not betraying a single emotion, except for the little downward twitch of his lower lip and the minute crease in his brow. “Tell him he’s gullible enough to trust a leetspeaking troll who wants him dead and strap on a rocket pack cause she said to.”

You pass on the message, keep reading his incredulous responses, and the feeling of impending disaster accelerates, it’s going to happen any second now, you’re going to die, John’s going to die, everyone and everything is going to die.

John stops talking with you because someone else is bugging him, and you look up, terrified, only to see Future Dave with his brow furrowed in concentration, half-mouthing words, and you realize he’s got to be talking to John through his shades. _Please_ let him be talking to John through his shades, please let him _convince_ John not to do whatever it is that gets him killed. You’re genuinely not sure how Future Dave managed to keep on going, without John. You have a feeling you’d fall apart in your very next heat, without the thought of John to ground you.

Then Future Dave sighs out a tiny little breath, and this is it, this is the disaster moment, you don’t know how but something is about to happen, _someone_ is going to die, and you have a feeling it’s going to be you (but which _one_ of you?)

And then he empties out his entire sylladex, and jumps backwards into the sprite.

There is a blinding flash of light.

The sense of doom winks out of existence in the exact same moment.

You blink as the heavy pressure in your chest, the feeling of terror and panic, disappear as quickly as they had come. You take a deep, steadying breath and wonder what the _fuck_ that was all about.

And then you meet eyes with… Davesprite.

“Hey,” you say, your voice quivering.

“Sup,” he replies.

He still looks a thousand years old. You wonder if you already look that way, to all of your friends.

You don’t think you want to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I'm going to post a chapter every *other* day, so I have plenty of time to finish writing this fic!
> 
> Also me, the very next day: *counts up finished chapters vs. chapters left to write* i don't need two weeks to write one dang chapter, let's rock and roll on those daily updates.


	3. Rose

Something soft hits the back of your _other_ head, and you blink in surprise, look up. On earth, you feel the sensation of your other body (your _other_ other body?) falling instantly asleep, head pressing on the keyboard and probably sending a garbled mess of a message over Pesterchum.

You turn to see what hit you, who threw it, and leaning through the window of your (familiar) purple-red room in the tower, is Rose.

She quirks a smile, wiggles her fingers at you and… and…

And it’s _Rose_ and she’s _here_ , in _person_ , she’s _ten feet away from you._

You try to keep your excitement under a lid, because you are a chill guy and you definitely don’t giggle with giddiness over meeting one of your best friends in the whole wide world in person for the very first time, especially not in front of a cool dude like Cal. But fuck, man, if you’d known at the start that playing this game would put you in _physical contact_ with your friends, you would have been a _lot_ more interested in playing it.

“Hey,” you say, standing and making your way toward the window, stifling the smile that wants to lift your lips.

“Sup,” says Rose, floating effortlessly up over the window ledge. She brushes her purple little tunic-dress thing off as she glides into the room and then gently touches down, with all the grace and precision of a ballerina.

The two of you are now only feet away from each other and you stand awkwardly, hands stuffed in your pockets. You suddenly realize you don’t know what to do. Would opening your arms up for a hug be too familiar, too uncool, too needy? Would a going for a handshake be too formal? Rose knows you better than anyone else in the whole world, but you don’t know the accepted protocol for meeting an internet friend IRL. _Is_ there even one?

Rose solves the dilemma by holding her hand out, her fingers and thumbs curled into a fist. You try not to grin too broadly and return the fist bump, feel the soft skin of her knuckles brush against yours.

Then she leans in slightly, closing her eyes, and sniffs you politely.

Oh.

Rose is here, in person, she’s physically present in front of you, and your dream bodies may be game constructs, but they’re as real as the ones you have on earth, exactly the same, down to the smallest fucking detail.

Which means she can smell that you’re an Omega.

You feel your throat close up in fear, because you have _no idea_ how she’s going to react, half of you wants to just book it straight out of the tower and not look back. Your heart is pounding in your ears, and you take a sharp step backward.

Too late. Rose opens her eyes and fixes you with a sardonic expression, half of a mocking smile playing around her lips. “Well,” she says, her tone amused. “You’ve been hiding more than just your eyes from us, it seems, Mr. Strider. When were you going to tell us you had presented?”

“It’s not like any of you ever asked,” you say, trying to keep the anxious defensiveness out of your tone and not really succeeding.

Something of Rose’s smile falters, like that’s not the answer she was expecting. She squints at you, looks up and down like she’s examining a strange new undiscovered animal. You don’t know how to feel about that, how to respond, so you just _stand_ there, reflexively curl one arm around your stomach like it will protect you from her sight. Out of the corner of your vision, you see Cal suddenly flashstep into a position next to you, and you try not to wince, not to hug your other arm around yourself.

You feel more like some kind of bizarro alien than a human, because it’s like Rose is a whole different species.

After that strangely charged pause, she says, “Didn’t you want to sniff me back? A girl could feel unwanted, Dave.”

That’s - yeah. That’s right. That’s what normal human people do when they meet someone for the first time. You force your hands down to your sides, ignore Cal staring at you with his fixed grin, and take in a _totally_ normal, definitely-not-shaky-at-all breath. Almost apologetically you step back into Rose’s space, lean forward and sniff her, your eyes falling shut to pay closer attention to your sense of smell.

Her scent is pleasantly floral, but not over-sweet, like an herbal tea, or something. It’s an obviously Beta scent, pure and crisp and lacking any undertones that would indicate Alpha or Omega hormones. You don’t know enough about plants to recognize exactly what kind of flower she smells like, but it’s a good scent. It smells like something you’d find in a fancy high-end kitchen or a millionaire’s garden.

Of course, it’s Rose. You’d like her scent even if she smelled like a cow pat, because it belongs to Rose.

Your eyes are closed, and you’re entirely focused on committing the smell of her to memory, so when the tips of Rose’s fingers touch your mating gland, you’re caught completely unawares.

You jerk backwards, almost stumbling over your own clumsy feet, clapping a hand to your neck as if you can retroactively hide the incriminating, bite-shaped scar from her. Heart racing once more with fear, you stare at her, for some reason feeling horribly like you’ve been betrayed.

Rose is staring back at you, and there isn’t even a hint of a smile on her face. Her mouth is set in a stern line, the wrinkle of a frown appearing between her eyebrows.

“Dave,” she says. “What the hell is that?”

“Nothing,” you say, panting, still pressing your hand to your neck. Your mating bite feels like a brand on your skin. “It’s nothing, mind your own fucking business, Rose.”

She frowns more deeply, and the two of you stand there in silence, staring at each other, for a long, long while. There’s an itching feeling in your muscles, like you need to run away, to hide in your nest, to find your pack so that they can shield you. The hand not on your neck reflexively curls around your stomach, to protect your soft and vulnerable organs. Your instincts are telling you to go find your Bro, your Alpha, because he will defend you from potential harm, will keep you safe.

Which is bullshit, because you know for a goddamn fact that Bro would tell you to fight your own fucking battles, and deal with the threat yourself.

But Rose isn’t a threat. She’s _not_ , no matter how scared and hurt you are right now. No one was _ever_ supposed to know about you and Bro, and now she almost certainly has guessed, and you’re going to get in _so_ much trouble. Something in the back of your head is screaming that because you fucked up, like a gullible, oblivious idiot, she’s going to ruin your bond, she’s going to hurt you, kidnap you, take you away from your Alpha and your pack.

But that’s not true, you _know_ that’s not true, Rose is one of your best friends. Deep down, under the fear and the panic and the bullshit mated Omega instincts, you really, truly believe she would never purposefully do anything to hurt you.

On the other hand, you can very much believe that she’d try to do something with the _intention_ of helping you, only to make everything much, much worse.

Silence descends in the little tower room, and Cal keeps flashstepping around, first here, then there, and it takes every fraction of your willpower not to flinch each time. Your hand on your neck feels too warm, too clammy, your breathing too loud, the hand curled around your stomach trembling too obviously. You still don’t know what to do, what to say, how to react. Once more, you are struck by the feeling that you can’t possibly be the same species as Rose, that you have been irrevocably altered and mutated into something that’s not even really human anymore.

Rose is the one to break the staring match first, glancing away, over her shoulder, apparently looking at the mixing setup she just flew over when she came in. She coughs, awkwardly, and turns her back to you, to examine your turntables more closely.

“Why don’t you show me some of your music, Dave?” she says, a little too loudly, the words a clear change of subject. “I know there’s some work you haven’t shared with me yet. Better yet, why don’t you give me a live performance?”

You sag in relief as she stops scrutinizing you, walk over to join her at your table. As you go, you try to subtly cover your mating gland with the collar of your pajamas. You don’t know how well you succeed, but you adjust your shades confidently and raise your hands to the turntables and your mix recorder.

“All right, Rose, step back and watch a master at work.”

But even as you start jamming and she starts dancing to the beat, you still can’t shake the slimy feeling that you’re not a real human anymore.


	4. Terezi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: oh i'll post the next chapter since it's tomorrow now and the chapter is done!  
> me: oh but wait it's only 10am, that's too early to post a new chapter. I'll wait until noon.  
> also me, at midnight the next evening: ... shit.
> 
> more fool me, i guess. next time i'm posting the chapter as soon as i think about it.
> 
> i really enjoy playing around with troll vs. human culture in this au, because i think most people either have _both_ species be A/B/O, or just the trolls, and i think just the _humans_ is a fun take on it! (plus, it lets me do angsty things later on. *rubs hands together and cackles*)

You really don’t understand why Terezi won’t show you how to god-tier like John.

TG: come on hes got all these awesome powers now  
TG: and hes just the heir of breath  
TG: imagine the badass stuff id get as the knight of time  
GC: TO B3COM3 GODT13R YOU H4V3 TO F4C3 YOUR OWN MORT4L1TY  
GC: 1 DONT TH1NK YOUR3 R34DY FOR TH4T  
TG: bullshit im totally ready  
GC: WHY DO YOU 3V3N W4NT 1T?  
GC: JUST TO K33P UP W1TH JOHN?  
GC: WHY WOULD 1T M4TT3R?  
TG: what do you mean why would it matter  
TG: id get sick powers out of it why wouldnt i want that  
TG: and i mean yeah id like to not fall behind john  
GC: WHY NOT?  
TG: because i want him to respect me

That… was a more honest answer than you really wanted to give. And sure, Terezi has a tendency to somehow trick the truth out of you, but normally you’re a lot more tight-lipped than that, even with her.

GC: WHY WOULD H3 NOT R3SP3CT YOU FOR NOT H4V1NG GODT13R POW3RS?  
GC: H3S K1ND OF 4N 3NORMOUS DORK WHO CONS1D3RS YOU H1S B3ST FR13ND  
GC: 1 DOUBT TH3R3S MUCH TH4T WOULD M4K3 H1M D1SR3SP3CT YOU

You’re not going to tell her that she’s wrong. That if John ever knew what you’d let your Bro do to you, what you had _begged_ for, you’d lose all your coolness in his eyes. Any esteem he had for you would vanish, because at best he’d think you were damaged goods not worth his time, and at worst, he’d think you were a desperate slutty whore only good for a quick fuck.

And like, you’re not expecting a _relationship_ with him or something like that. Hell, John doesn’t even know you’re an Omega yet so the two of you getting together would be super gay, in his mind. But you also don’t want him to think you’re just some kind of mindless fuck toy (even if you are one).

You need to stay competitive with him, power-wise, because you can’t look _weak_. If you look like a weak little Omega, he might -

Well, let’s just say you’ve got a lot of sanity riding on a fantasy version of John, which means you can never let him know what you are.

But there’s no way you’re telling Terezi any of that. And there’s also no way you’re letting Terezi know you’re an Omega.

TG: mostly its the whole alpha thing  
TG: were both alphas obviously so ive got all these instincts telling me i gotta compete with him  
TG: its just biology  
TG: we alphas are like that  
TG: i mean youre a beta right  
TG: so you wouldnt really get it  
TG: you dont have to deal with that shit ever really  
GC: NO, D4V3, 1M NOT 4 B3T4  
GC: W3 DONT 3V3N H4V3 THOS3

That actually gives you pause. Sure, you get that they’re aliens, that they have different cultural rules and maybe that they might even be basically bug people, but the way she draws herself and the fact that she keeps drawing her red glasses on all these human characters in her comics and gifs somehow gave you the impression that trolls weren’t really all that different from humans.

TG: so you only have alphas and omegas?  
TG: weird  
GC: W3 DONT H4V3 THOS3 31TH3R  
GC: HON3STLY 1M NOT TOT4LLY C3RT41N 1 3V3N KNOW WH4T THOS3 4R3?  
GC: FROM CONT3XT 1TS CL34R TH4T 1T H4S TO DO W1TH SOM3 K1ND OF G3ND3R TH1NG  
GC: BUT TROLLS 4R3 JUST BOYS 4ND G1RLS W3 DONT H4V3 TH1S OTH3R D1M3NS1ON YOU HUM4NS 4R3 4LW4YS H4RP1NG ON 4BOUT  
GC: 1 F33L L1K3 3V3RYWH3R3 1 TURN 1TS *4LPH4 TH1S* 4ND *OM3G4 TH4T*  
GC: 1T R33KS OF 1NS3CUR1TY  
TG: wait seriously?  
TG: you dont have alphas or omegas at all either?  
TG: nobody goes into rut or heat?

You try to imagine a world without Alphas and Omegas and Betas, a world without ruts or heats, a world only divided up into men and women.

On the one hand, you can kinda see it? Betas don’t have heats or ruts, and they manage to reproduce just fine without them, so if everybody had reproductive systems that worked like Beta ones, the world probably wouldn’t be that different? Hell, with people needing to take less time off of work for heat and rut, maybe your species as a collective whole would have been able to get more shit done, develop super advanced technology and space travel and stuff like the trolls (allegedly) have.

On the other hand, you can’t imagine how radically different _your_ life would have been if you weren’t an Omega and Bro wasn’t an Alpha. Your brain just kind of… stalls out as you try to compute it.

Also, Terezi just said trolls don’t have Betas, either, so you genuinely have no idea how that works. (Although if everyone was a Beta and there were no Alphas or Omegas to compare them to, would you even think to call them Betas?)

GC: 1 DONT 3V3N KNOW WH4T RUT OR H34T 4R3  
GC: BUT TH3Y SOUND R4TH3R L4SC1V1OUS  
GC: >;]  
TG: well

Somehow the conversation devolves into the two of you dancing around actually explaining your respective reproductive systems. The most you can determine is that theirs somehow involves buckets, drones of some kind, something called a Mother Grub, and the words “incestuous slurry,” a phrase which makes you feel vaguely queasy and uncomfortable for reasons you choose not to examine too closely.

You have no idea what kind of warped picture you’ve painted of human reproduction, especially considering the fact that you fed her about as much deliberately false information as true, and that it’s pretty complicated in the first place. But to be fair, you have no idea how much of the weird bullshit she fed you is true or false, either.

Either way, the fact that their biology is so wildly different from your own is sort of jarring. You never really realized just how _alien_ the trolls are, until right this second.

It’s a weird thing to think about.

TG: okay but back to being on topic again  
TG: why wont you show me how to go godtier  
GC: F1N3  
GC: 1LL G1V3 YOU 4 CHO1C3  
GC: ON ON3 COND1T1ON

You agree immediately to her weird coin flip demand. You’d do pretty much anything to become a god-tier.

You can’t look weak in front of John.


	5. Jade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and now i finally let nice things happen to dave! fun fact: i literally wrote the beginning of this chapter when i was halfway through "a brother's love" because i needed a break from all the bad stuff and i just needed to write a little fluff...
> 
> of course, because it's me, and because it's this fic, there's plenty of angst mixed in with the fluff. but i'd like to think it's at least _mostly_ fluffy?

You head through the gate, and stick the landing on the top of Jade’s tower like the absolute badass you are. As you straighten up, you hear a cry of delight.

“Dave!” Jade shrieks, and then your arms are suddenly full of excited, bouncing girl.

You freeze, the sudden tackle too reminiscent of Bro ambushing you around corners. Jade’s arms close around your neck, squeezing you tight, and she buries her nose in your shoulder, and for a second, you can’t breathe.

But Jade is also laughing a sweet, excited laugh, and her touch is so _warm_ , the affection so genuine, that you find yourself relaxing. Your arms come up to envelop her in a tight hug, one hand cradling her head, and you sink your own face into her bushy hair, inhale the unfamiliar scent of her.

Jade’s scent is soft and mild, a little bit like milk and a _lot_ like wet dog, and as you hold her you remember she hasn’t presented yet. She still gives off that noncommittal preadolescent smell that picks up the scents of pack members better than it shows its own characteristics.

Suddenly she seems so young to you.

When she pulls back, you can see her enormous grin, marvel at the way her cheeks compress her green eyes into little half-moons, how the scrunching of her nose making her glasses rise on her face. It makes you smile reflexively, unable to help yourself. God, she’s so pretty.

“I can’t believe you’re actually here, Dave,” Jade says, her hands resting lightly on your shoulders. “You smell so sweet in person, I never realized people could smell like that.”

Two thoughts occur to you simultaneously.

First, Jade’s lived on a remote island her entire life. Her grandfather was a Beta, and he died when she was just a little girl and since then it’s just been her and Becquerel. She has _no idea_ what other human beings are supposed to smell like. Which means that she doesn’t know you’re an Omega.

Second, her hands are situated _dangerously_ close to your mating glands. If her fingers move a little higher, she’ll be able to feel the little hardened tooth-shaped scars that make up your bond mark. The feel of Jade’s hands so near that incriminating piece of evidence kind of makes you want to scream.

Quickly, you shrug her off, pulling away and trying to pass it off as a cool, “I’m not a touchy-feely kinda guy,” moment. Jade allows it, letting her arms fall to her sides with no fuss. She hasn’t stopped smiling.

Jade is clearly as excited to meet you as you are to meet her, and in the face of her boundless joy, you can’t lie. Not even by omission.

“Um,” you say quietly, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. Your eyes slide away from hers and to the ground next to her feet, because you can’t bear to see her face fall at this confession. “I, uh. I smell sweet because I’m actually an Omega. I never told you guys.”

Jade says, “Oh! That explains it. Why didn’t you tell us, Dave?”

You shrug and don’t say anything. You should probably stop fiddling with the hem of your shirt, but you can’t.

Jade elbows you in the stomach, and the unexpected touch actually makes you jump. “What, did being an Omega ruin the _cool dude_ aesthetic for you?” she says, teasingly. “Well, I still think you’re a pretty cool dude, Dave.”

You’re definitely not telling _Jade,_ of all people, that you haven’t told your friends you’re an Omega because you’re ashamed of being bonded to your Bro and being a needy, desperate slut who begs for attention and Alpha cock. She’d be disgusted by the whole thing. You don’t want to expose her to the kind of depraved filth you’ve been getting up to on the other side of your computer screen.

Especially since she doesn’t sound upset with you for having lied for so long. Maybe she’d be more angry if she knew you presented when you were ten. But even though you feel like you have to be a little honest, there are some things you would prefer to just let her believe.

You muster up a casual, ironic smile and use it to paper over the creeping shame inside of you. “That’s because I _am_ a cool dude,” you say, lying through your teeth.

Jade laughs and paps you lightly on the shoulder.

You don’t think you’ve ever experienced this much friendly, casual touch with no ulterior motives in such a short period of time before. The fact that Jade has now gently touched you _three_ times in the past five minutes is making you vibrate in the pit of your stomach. You can’t decide if it’s anxiety, or your massive fucking crush on her, or just a desperate need for her to do it again, but whichever it is, you feel like you’re practically melting.

Then she reaches out and encloses her hand around yours, and you consider the possibility that, solitary as she is out here on this random island, she might be even more desperate for friendly human touch than you are.

“Come on!” she says, tugging on your arm. “I wanna to show you my house! And my planet! And all the little baby tadpoles. They’re so cute, Dave! You’ll love them!”

She reaches out for your other hand, too, and you offer it gladly, letting her pull you along by both arms as she walks backwards through the snow, laughing. You can’t tear your eyes away from her smiling face, keep nodding and “Mm-hmm”ing in the right places as she babbles at you about all the amazing stuff she’s figured out. Half of you wants to pull her in towards you and _kiss_ her, while the other half just never wants to stop watching her sparkling green eyes.

You’ve dreamed of this moment for years.

Sure, John’s always been the one you feature in your sexual fantasies. He’s an Alpha, and he’s strong, and he’s a huge goober but somehow you feel like he could protect you. So when you have to escape your own mind, have to get away from whatever Bro is doing to do you, in your head you go to John, and pretend that he is doing the same things, but gently. The thought of John is sometimes the only thing that gets you through your heats without killing yourself.

But you’ve had a crush on Jade for as long as you’ve had a crush on John, too. The only difference is that, because she’s unpresented, and so sweet and gentle and naive, you can’t sully the idea of her with the kind of things you do with your Bro. When you think about Jade, you think about cuddling up and holding hands and her scent-marking you with her face as you sit curled around each other, dipping your feet off the end of a pier into the cool water of the ocean.

And you’re holding hands with her right now, and it’s every bit as wonderful as you always imagined it would be.

Jade’s voice rings out, filled with joy and laughter, and you still can’t stop smiling, too.


	6. Last Verse, Same as the First

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnnnd back into pure angst lol.
> 
> Chronologically speaking, this happens shortly before the conversation Dave has with Terezi in chapter four, but I couldn't resist the emotional bookends! Also, Dave can canonically time travel, so there.

You feel like, when a person dies, their scent should vanish with them. At the very least, it should be like shutting a door - making their scent muted, less potent, less distracting. Their scent should fade with their life. In a perfect world, this disappearance would be poetic, and melancholy, and bittersweet, and cathartic, and all those lovely words associated with grief.

That’s clearly not the case in reality. For one thing, every Dead Dave you’ve run into has still smelled sweet, like strawberries and honey. But that’s okay, that makes sense, because you’re still an _alive_ Dave, so your scent _should_ stick around, because it doesn’t belong exclusively to the Daves that fucked up and got themselves killed.

And, as you stand staring at the body of your Bro, the air is still thick with the smell of new leather and motor oil and menthol cigarettes, all mixed together with the nauseating metallic smell of blood and a kind of crackling ozone scent that for some reason makes you think of burning hair. You swallow, trying to contain the bile that wants to rise at the stench.

You sign off with Terezi, assuring her that you don’t need comforting, because you’re a hard dude and you’d rather get your manly grieve on in peace. She acquiesces, and you stare down, feeling adrift.

It’s hard to believe that he’s dead.

But there he is, his own sword sticking out of his chest like a morbid flagpole, a monument to his badassery. His body lies in an ungainly sprawl, hat fallen off, shades gone, gloved hands lying at unnatural angles. Crusty blood rings his parted lips, dried red stains harden his shirt into stiff folds, and you can imagine the tacky feel of the puddle surrounding him. You can trace the paths of the tiny rivers that once flowed from him, through thin cracks in the ground, making thick, dusty purple mud.

His eyes are closed, and you’re grateful for that. You don’t think you could handle staring into his sightless, bare eyes. As it is, he seems almost more naked without the glasses than he does - did - with his dick in your ass and his hands on your hips.

At first you don’t know whether to be heartbroken or relieved, and then you want to kick yourself for even _thinking_ that. Of course you should be heartbroken, he was your brother and your pack leader and your fucking mate and now he’s dead. You’re fucking _bereaved_ here, and you could stand to act like it.

But you don’t feel anything.

It’s not the hollow numb feeling when Bro won’t fuck you while you’re in heat, the mindless reduction to only an aching emptiness, or the sheer exhausted unfeeling fugue state you fall into after his rut has ended and you’re so fucked out you can’t think coherently.

There’s just. Nothing. No pain, no emotion, no thoughts, no nothing. You feel blank. Like his face always was, never betraying one iota of how he really felt. Even in death, with his mouth half-open, there’s not a hint of fear or anger or doubt there. Just pure, eternal coolness, like a sheet of frozen ice. He doesn’t even look fucking surprised that he’s dead.

You have a feeling that in this moment, your face could match his, inch for inch.

Your limbs are shaking now, you realize distantly, and you have to kneel, one hand stretched to the ground to stabilize yourself, before you fall over.

That’s when Terezi pesters you again.

You _just_ signed off with her, she promised to give you space, so you’ve got no clue what gives. You could always just ignore her, keep doing what you’re doing.

But you’re kind of desperate for a distraction, any kind of distraction, from this. So you answer, and you know there’s a strained hysteria making its way into your messages, but you can’t stop it from bubbling up.

Then Terezi asks if you loved him.

You answer “no” almost immediately.

You don’t even know if that answer was true, or a desperate attempt to save face, or some kind of ironic gesture.

You sort of stumble your way through the rest of the conversation, admitting to being sad without even really being sure that you _are_ sad. When she gets you riled up, you try to snap the sword out of his body, and are genuinely surprised when you’re flung backwards into the dust.

Lying facedown on the ground, the smell of blood and leather and cigarette smoke filling your nose, the tears finally start to leak out. You’re just glad Terezi can’t see them - or smell them or taste them or whatever bullshit thing she claims to be able to do.

Anger fills you abruptly, as if it’s being poured into you from some external reservoir of fury and you are an eager vessel now near to overflowing. Hot, bitter tears slide down your cheeks and melt into the blue dirt beneath you. You clench your hands into fists and hope Terezi won’t comment on it.

You don’t know whether you’re mad at him for dying or for mating you, or if you’re mad at the world, at your _friends_ , for not noticing what was going on between the two of you, or at yourself for letting all of this happen in the first place, or at Jack for killing him. It’s a hot, reckless, relentless anger and you want to scream and hit something.

You choose, deliberately, to point your anger square at Jack, and let it run loose. Jack is an acceptable target for hatred. It makes _sense_ that you’d be angry at him for killing your guardian, so you let the logical, sensible feeling run its course.

If you can’t actually be sad that your Bro is dead, can’t mourn him the way you feel like you’re supposed to, at the very least you can seek vengeance on his killer.

That’s probably more like what Bro would have wanted from you, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this fic! In a lot of ways this is sort of a transition into the next "part" of the series - if I really wanted to make a Hussie pastiche, I would have called this the "End of Act One" lol.
> 
> After this point, fics in _Smells Like Belonging_ will start to get a little nonlinear - or at least, the individual fics and chapters will go up in nonlinear fashion, although I'll probably keep them close to "chronological" in terms of the order of the series here on AO3. The beginning of Act Two also marks a shift into several other POV characters, so that should be a lot of fun!
> 
> Thank you for reading and for all the comments you've left on the series so far! All the positive feedback really means a lot to me - I was *so* nervous about posting these fics, but the warm welcome has really motivated me to keep writing!


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